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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26366074">I Long to Have but Blush to Crave</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sins of the Cities Series - K. J. Charles</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff and Smut, M/M, Victorian</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:42:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,036</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26366074</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Rowley's birthday. The first birthday anyone else has known about in thirty years. Will Clem remember?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Rowley Green/Clem Talleyfer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I Long to Have but Blush to Crave</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Rowley was turning 36 on January 16, 1871. He hadn’t had anything like a proper birthday celebration (although Mr. Morris was kind) since his mother had died, so that was thirty years. </p><p>He wouldn’t have said anything. The only reason Clem might have known was that they’d been at the Jack and Knave one night, and Nathanial and Justin had been there, and Gregory, of course, and Gregory was going on about astrology and sun signs and all kinds of nonsense that Rowley was only half listening to as Clem held his hand under the table. Not that he had to do it under the table, not at the Jack and Knave, but it was still an intimate luxury, out among others. Gregory wouldn’t stop asking, in his grand and frankly, to Rowley’s mind, exhausting way, and finally, Rowley gave his birth date, and then Gregory waxed on about Capricorns, Sea Goats and Saturn. Justin, of course, rolled his eyes, but after Gregory prodded, he obligingly gave the sign and a few details. </p><p>Rowley didn’t put much stock in the things Justin mentioned, which seemed to Rowley general enough to fit anyone, but at any rate, Clem had heard his birthdate, and smiled at him with pleasure, and now Rowley knew that Clem knew.</p><p>Or had known, anyway, but that had been weeks ago, and his lover was forgetful, time being only a nebulous concept to Clem Talleyfer. And since Clem made no mention in the meantime, that was that. Rowley spent his birthday working on a new mount, a lovely miniature gazelle from the Botanical Gardens who’d died in an unlucky fall, and after work, he’d come to Clem’s rooms for tea in front of the fire, as he always did, but Clem’s door was closed, and there was no answer when he knocked. </p><p>Puzzled and disappointed, he climbed the lodging house stairs to his room, and opened the door. He had just taken off his coat when he saw something out of place in his neat, sparse room. There was an envelope in his dragon’s mouth. </p><p>
  <i>Rowley,</i> it said. <i>I’ve been called to our club to offer advice to a friend. He’s asked for your opinion as well.<br/>
-Clem</i>
</p><p><i>Our</i> club. Rowley smiled.  And one of Clem’s friends—his friends, now, wanted to Rowley to be there. </p><p>He tidied himself, combing his hair and neatening his clothes and cleaning his spectacles, donned his coat again, and headed out. </p><p>It was a new year's winter now, and it was quite cold. Which was nothing new at all. As a young boy, he'd lived with never enough warmth, and as a preserver, he worked in a cold shop. Having the heat from a stove risked fire, and he couldn’t afford another disaster. After the loss of his stock last year—it had been awful. But he was coming back. The insurance money had helped, although hours and hours of lost work, and his lynx! Only a pile of charred, misshapen, smoke-ruined fur. He pushed the thought away. There was no justice in the world. And yet despite that, somehow, nondescript, nothing-special Rowley Green had come out far ahead in ways that really mattered. He was a lucky, lucky man. Nothing special, Rowley Green was, but somehow, he’d turned out to be one of the luckiest men in London. He had Clem. Beautiful, kind, wondrous Clem, with his glorious eyes, shockingly handsome, kind, and gentle. And Clem loved him. Lovers, they were, and just the thought made him smile; a warmth rising in his chest embers crackling in his own heart. </p><p>The big doorman let him in, greeting Rowley by name, and that made him smile, too. He had a place, he had friends. After years of a solitary life, he had a home at Talleyfer’s Lodging House, and a second home, here. </p><p>He stepped through the entrance, and Phyllis looked up and grinned at him. "Back room," she said, jerking her head.</p><p>Rowley headed back, and for a moment just froze, almost blindly noting the handful of patrons at the tables, and the group around one table in particular. There was Mark, Nathanial, Justin... and shining, everyone else paling, was Clem, standing and striding toward him. He was grinning, and his hand grasped Rowley’s, pulling him toward their friends.  People stood, and made room, and Rowley got to sit next to Clem, their thighs touching. </p><p>That was followed by many claps on the back and grins and good wishes, plus jokes that he was an old man now. Rowley knew that was the kind of them people did on birthdays, but since he hadn’t had one in thirty years, it was brand new. </p><p>And then… Gregory brought out a cake. He brought it to the table with a flourish, like the poshest waiter. It was lovely. “Polly made it,” Clem said, grinning, clasping his hand under the table. </p><p>Plates and forks were produced, and the cake was cut, and it was sublime. Rowley was in a fog of disbelief and warm emotion. To think, peculiar and solitary Rowley Green had friends, a place. Clem, a home. He was halfway through his third decade before it happened, but he’d never, ever thought it could happen. And here he was. He squeezed Clem’s hand, and Clem grinned at him. “I know you thought I forgot.”</p><p>“You didn’t,” Rowley said, whispering because he thought his voice might squeak. </p><p>“What did you get the man?” Gregory said, when the cake was finished, and they were having drinks. Pale ale for Rowley, lemonade for Clem, gin for the others. Gregory was asking Clem, whose eyes sparkled. “It’s a surprise,” he said, meeting Rowley’s eyes. “He’ll just have to wait.” </p><p>His hand, under the table, moved to squeeze Rowley’s knee, and then traveled upward. </p><p>“Anticipation, then.” Justin’s eyes flickered to Rowley’s, and Rowley felt naked for a moment. Surely the man didn’t know Rowley’s tastes. He wasn’t really a seer. But Clem’s hand was skating along his thigh, and he was getting hard, and he felt like Justin Lazarus could see through the table and into his… preferences—the one beyond his preference for men, of course, and he knew he was blushing. He blinked and looked away, taking a too-large sip of his ale. </p><p>“Hmm,” the former “Seer of London” said, the hint of a knowing smile turning up his lips. There was a moment of awkward silence at the table, and then discussion began again. Gregory told a very funny story about his newest prima donna, and Nathanial caught them up on Sukey and Emma—calling them “their girls,” which made Justin beam, although he tried to hide it, and Mark shared that Penn was performing this evening, or the acrobat would be there with them.</p><p>“It’s alright, we’re going to see the act tomorrow,” Clem said. “I’ve rented a box.” </p><p>“Is that the present, then?” Mark said. “Because now you’ve shown your hand.” </p><p>“There’s more,” Clem said, and his face looked… a bit heated. Justin Lazarus chuckled, a filthy sound, which Rowley registered, but only barely. Clem’s warm palm was massaging his leg now, ridiculously close to his stand and really, that was just about all he could think about. His breath hitched, and for his sanity, sitting here at a table, in public, though his lover’s hand was hidden—he didn’t want to embarrass himself, after all. He moved Clem’s hand away, giving him what he hoped was an explanatory look that he suspected looked more like a plea and a promise. Clem grinned at him, and leaned into him, shoulder to thigh, but he kept his hands to himself. </p><p>Rowley lost himself in the sensation of Clem’s body heat, in the anticipation, in the waiting, the ale and the sound of his friends, laughing and talking around him, and finally, when he was finished with his drink, he’d calmed enough not to embarrass himself if he stood. Mark and Lazarus were talking about an amusing case, and abruptly, with his usual jump from point <i>a</i> to point <i>c</i>, Clem announced that they were going home. </p><p>A sequence of knowing smiles passed around the table, and Rowley felt himself blushing for what seemed like the hundredth time tonight; goodbyes were said, and they were walking home, arm in arm. </p><p>Clem smiled all the way home, a secret smile, hinting at possibilities, and Rowley felt a heat pooling in him, delicious with the slow wait of reveal. Clem had plans. </p><p>It wasn’t that Rowley liked to be submissive, not the way people usually meant it, and it wasn’t, good lord, like he didn’t like spending. But it was the wait that did it for him, the idea of being used for another’s—Clem’s—pleasure. He didn’t want to be hurt, or forced, or anything even close to that. But he wanted his lover—Clem, he thought as his heart beat faster—to take what he wanted. He wanted to be used, to let his lover—Clem, he thought, his whole soul expanding—to put his body to use. To find pleasure in him, as he was, Rowley Green, preserver. And make him wait, deliciously wait, for his own release. He wanted to be taken out of his body, have the joy out of his control, to give himself fully to Clem’s joy and glorious, generous love.</p><p>“I have a surprise for you,” Clem said, when they got to his rooms and Rowley'd locked the door behind them. “But, I think I’ll wait,” he said, running a hand casually over the placket of Rowley’s trousers, leaning in to kiss his jaw, his hand smoothing  over the fabric and along his stand until it flexed under his fingers and Rowley whimpered. “I think we should have tea first.” </p><p>Smiling a smile much slyer than Rowley would have imagined possible, for dear, sweet Clem, Clem said, “Sit down.” </p><p>Clem got the kettle going and the tea things he needed, but for once, Clem’s single-mindedness on his task eased for a moment, half-way through, and while the water steeped he came to Rowley, his fingers clumsy while he undid Rowley’s trousers. Rowley’s stand, which had just barely subsided, sprang to meet Clem’s welcoming palm and slender fingers, and when Clem bent and kissed him, he gasped into his mouth. “Clem,” he almost sobbed. </p><p>“Tea first,” Clem said, all business again. “Leave your trousers open, though. I may want to touch you again. Although… there was that secret smile again. “Maybe not.” </p><p>He sat in the other big chair in front of the fire like nothing was unusual, them in front of the fire, letting the tea steep, while Rowley’s trousers were open and his prick hard and leaking.</p><p>Rowley gripped his hands on the arms of the chair to keep from touching himself. The anticipation was delicious. As was the idea that he was here, ready for Clem’s touch, Clem’s use, Clem’s pleasure. </p><p>Clem poured the tea, and prick out, like nothing at all was unusual, Rowley took the cup Clem handed him. The tea warmed him, the fire warmed him, and Clem’s regard warmed him, a ribbon of longing warmed him, curling with a glorious anticipation. </p><p>“Are you ready for your presents?” Clem said, cup and saucer clinking as he put them on the table between them. Clem didn’t wait for an answer before he stood, and then he was back moments later. There were two. “This one first,” Clem said, handing him an oblong box, one someone besides Clem had wrapped, with perfect creases and a well-tied ribbon. </p><p>It was a woolen scarf. Fine material. Superb quality. Green. A soft, mossy green. He took it out of the box and stroked it, then draped it about his neck. “It’s lovely, Clem.” </p><p>“Mmm,” Clem said, standing in front of him to admire. “You look lovely with it. It matches your lovely green eyes.”</p><p>“My eyes aren’t lovely,” Rowley said. “Now yours…”</p><p>Clem leaned forward to cup his cheek, tender. “My dear Rowley, you do not give yourself credit. It matches your beautiful eyes, and I hope that it will keep you warm as you work in your shop.”</p><p>“I’m sure it will!” Rowley said. “I’ll be very careful not to soil it with… well, you know.”</p><p>Clem smiled. “You have perfect, sure hands. You’re neat and elegant, and… well, you’re perfect, my Rowley.” </p><p>Rowley wanted to kiss him. To climb on his lap, his usual perch, and kiss him. But it felt odd with his trousers open, and he didn’t know what Clem wanted.</p><p>Clem did, though. He sat back in his usual chair.</p><p>“Come here, my Rowley.” Clem patted his lap, and, holding his trousers with one hand and feeling only slightly foolish, because it was Clem, and he wanted him like this, Rowley came. Climbed on his lap, and let Clem kiss him. </p><p>Clem liked to take the lead, and Rowley saw no harm in that. Clem was flustered sometimes; it was wasn’t about any desire to manhandle Rowley. It was just that Clem was… awkward, sometimes, and just a bit nervous, and it was better to let him take the lead. It was hardly a hardship. Clem kissed his mouth gently, almost chaste, and then his jaw and his hair and his throat and earlobe and the spot right behind his earlobe, making him squirm in is lover’s arms. “Clem,” he said, moving closer to angle their bodies together. Close, to stroke Clem’s lovely dark beard.</p><p>Clem was hard and at first gripped Rowley’s backside, pulling him closer so that they could frot together in this chair, loving each other in front of the fire, but then he pulled himself away. There was reluctance in his breathing, but he pulled away. </p><p>“There’s another present,” he whispered, breath warm on Rowley’s ear and throat. “But you may not... you may not like it.” </p><p>“If it’s from you, Clem.”</p><p>“It’s for both of us.” His hands cupped and kneaded Rowley’s arse, possessive. “But if you don’t like it, you only have to say. I won’t mind. I just wondered if you might.” </p><p>Rowley resisted the urge to agree blindly. He honestly wasn’t sure. Clem was a thoughtful and generous lover, but Rowley couldn’t be sure if he’d like something, not knowing what it was. “I will say that it’s hard to know, sight unseen. But I’ll tell you if I don’t like it.”</p><p>Clem nodded, serious and intent, and handed over the other, badly wrapped box. This one was smaller, and square, and Clem had a moment of trepidation over what Clem could be nervous about. And then he saw what it was and was perplexed.</p><p>Silk scarves. Two, and both green. One was the mossy green that Clem had called his eyes, the other a deep emerald. </p><p>Rowley was not fancy. He had no doubt that a nondescript man of his class could not carry off this silk. The fine woolen scarf was lovely, and practical, and if Clem thought it brought out his eyes, he would wear it every day. But this? He didn’t mind it, but he didn’t understand it.</p><p>When he looked to Clem, Clem was worrying his lower lip. “It’s not… it’s for here. If you want it.” </p><p>Still mystified, Rowley raised an eyebrow. </p><p>Our bedroom, Clem said, and the rush of that, of Clem calling the bed in the next room “theirs” his heart swelled.</p><p>“I don’t know if you’ll like it,” Clem said, speaking a bit fast. “It’s just that they’re lovely soft scarves, and I’ve got a lovely iron bed with a headboard that scarves could be threaded through, and they match your lovely eyes…”</p><p>Understanding slowly dawned on Rowley. </p><p>“We don’t have to,” Clem said yet again, hand coming up to caress the nape of Rowley’s neck. “But if you wanted to try… we could. And if you wanted to stop, we could. All you have to do is say so. I just thought you might like it. If you don’t, you don’t.”</p><p>Rowley found himself hardening at the thought. He didn’t know—he didn’t. But with Clem, they could try it. Clem would listen if he said no. But if Rowley was tied, gently, with soft scarves that Clem said made him beautiful… and if Clem used him, until he finally let Rowley spend… </p><p>“Yes,” he whispered, voice a bit high. “Yes, Clem, you beautiful bugger. Yes.”</p><p>“And if you don’t like it, you’ll tell me?”</p><p>“God yes.”</p><p>“Shoo then.” Clem pushed him up and patted his bum. Go and undress for me. I’ll lock the doors and close up the house for the night.”</p><p>--</p><p>The scarves were soft, and Clem was so gentle and carful when he tied them. Clem was not the best at knots—in fact, he was terrible, and Rowley felt quite sure he could easily slip things, but it was the idea that made him his skin buzz. Clem used one on each wrist, climbing over him, both of them naked, and wrapping the fine fabric around the iron of his headboard between kisses and compliments and endearments. </p><p>“So good for me, my Rowley. The green is lovely on you and brings out your eyes. My Rowley.” Clem took Rowley’s face in his hands, his spectacle-free face. “Just mine. This is the face no one else gets to see. And you look beautiful, bound and waiting to be used. He accented the last word, purely, Rowley knew, for Rowley’s benefit, and he whimpered and pushed up toward Clem, heavy over him.</p><p>Rowley’s chest hair was straw-colored and sparse, but Clem’s was magnificent, dark and thick and elegant, and with a lovely trail to his stand, and Rowley pushed up against that, feeling the friction, but the scarves left him somewhat limited, even though he wasn’t really bound. He could have freed himself at any moment, but it was for Clem, to stay like this. Helpless, he thought. He existed for Clem. It was exhilarating. His stand throbbed and leaked, and Clem pushed against his, equally hard.</p><p>They thrust against each other, Clem’s body and body hair and prick rubbing against his skin. until Rowley gasped, “I may spend!” and then Clem moved away, reaching for something on his bedside table. It was oil, and he dribbled it over Rowley’s upper thighs, cool splatters on his heated skin. </p><p>“I’m going to take you Oxford style,” Clem said. </p><p>“I don’t even know what that means, but I’m happy to oblige, Rowley said, stomach trembling.<br/>
</p><p>“I’m going to slide between your thighs until I spend and give you nothing.” </p><p>“Fuck,” Rowley said, voice a breathy whisper. He almost said he’d done it, but didn’t know the name, but it didn’t matter, because Clem was above him, and ready to use him, pressing his perfect stand between Rowley’s clenching legs. </p><p>“Put your legs together and flex your thighs for my prick, lovely. You must be still, and not do a single thing, while I use you. For my pleasure,” Clem said, knowing the effect it would have on Rowley, and Rowley’s stand leaked fluid onto his stomach, wet and needy. He felt he might swoon, as the ladies did in one of Wilkie Collins’ books. It was so delicious, and Clem’s kisses, on his throat, working up to his jaw, and under his ear, and his hair, and finally his mouth made him feel a bit dizzy. “Now,” Clem said. “Be still.”<br/>

</p>
<p>Rowley hummed, a bit high in his throat. A gasp, really, because words had left him.</p><p>Clem used some oil to slick his stand and pushed it between Rowley’s thighs. “Clasp your legs together. Oh, like that, my Rowley. You look so lovely.”  Bracing his hands on either side of Rowley’s shoulders, Clem pushed again, closer this time. It was delicious, the slick drag of Clem’s prick, pushing and massaging his balls, the underside of his leaking stand. “Flex for me, lovely. I want to use you to get off. You’re all for me. And there’s nothing you can do about it but wait.” He leaned closer, breath warm on Rowley’s jaw, air coming harshly. Like his thrusts, more and more insistent, the wetness between the two of them, Clem between his legs, and Rowley’s stand, deliciously neglected, leaking on his stomach in needy pulses. </p><p>Rowley whined, helpless and thinking he might spend even without being touched, and then, Clem let his body drape and weigh on him. “I’m going to spend, lovely,” Clem said, his lush, rough, body hair gently rubbing against Rowley’s stomach and his stand, trapped between the two of them. Clem continued to fuck him, fuck hard between his legs, and now he was close enough to kiss, and Clem took advantage of it, licking into his mouth. He whimpered and Clem groaned, making Rowley pulse wetness at Clem losing control and letting himself go; Rowley taking in the joy and pride of Clem’s abandon. Clem groaned, incautious as he let himself go “You look so beautiful like this, my Rowley.  I love you. Push up if you need to. You can move.”</p><p>“Clem,” Rowley ground out, never so at the mercy of his own body, never so needy as this, so alive in every pore. “Oh, yes, my Rowley,” Clem said and made a soft sound, sighing into Rowley’s mouth as he came, splashing his thighs with warmth and wetness.</p><p>In the hopeless throes of need, Rowley still found the words to stutter out: “Good?”</p><p>“Unimaginably good, my love.” That sly smile, one that Rowley only registered on the edges of his consciousness, twitched Clem’s lips again. “Do you want to finish, or do you want to wait?”</p><p>Rowley tried to answer, he did. But it only came out as a high whimper.</p><p>Clem edged down the bed, and then his mouth was at the tip of Rowley’s prick. Just the tip, and just a light suck, a stroke of his welcoming, perfect hand, and Rowley’s senses were on overload, every bone and sinew in his body coming apart in vibrations and exhilaration. He could not last like this, strung out so far that he cried out, “Clem!” pushing at his shoulder, the warning him that he would spill. But Clem stayed where he was, lips gently wrapped around the head of his cock, and for the first time, Rowley spent in Clem’s mouth, thick hot pulses like he was a boy again, with a near-religious bliss. </p><p>It was marvelous, and through a haze of bliss, Rowley watched Clem sit up and swallow, and despite all reason, his stand twitched again at the sight. Clem smiled at him and climbed up his body to remove the scarves that Rowley could have easily slipped, and lay to rest beside him, pulling him close.</p><p>“Happy Birthday.”</p><p>Rowley’s vision and smile were dazed before he turned into Clem’s warm, solid body, and kissed him. Thoroughly. Tasting himself on Clem’s tongue, cock twitching again. </p><p>Clem sighed, pulling him closer, hand at the nape of Rowley’s neck, then smoothing his hair. </p><p>“Stay the night,” Clem said. “In our bedroom. Tomorrow’s Sunday, so no Polly or Elsie. No one will disturb us, and if anyone sees you leave, well. You’ve been working awfully hard, lately. I can say you fell asleep on the settle.” </p><p>“Are you sure? In truth, I don’t think I could move for anything. You’ve drained my vitals,” he said, and both grinned at the shared joke. </p><p>That was what it was like, Rowley realized. He had never had a lover before, but this? It was the lovemaking, yes. But it was more. Shared jokes and shared history and shared insights and dreams and … well, in their case, adventures, although he preferred their shared domesticity. Mr. Talleyfer and his lodger, drinking tea by the fire, Cat on Rowley’s lap, and Clem loving him and making love to him. He had never imagined it could be possible, but here it was. He curled further into Clem and kissed his shoulder.</p><p>“I love you, too.” </p><p>Clem’s breath was evening out, but he sighed, pulled him further into an embrace, and they slept together, close, and warm and sweet.</p>
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